I’ll confess, I’ve eavesdropped on Boatweiler’s practice session…twice. Surely I’m not the only victim of their gravitational pull! You see, four days prior to showtime, the Barn failed to imprison its melody, causing irresistible sound waves to flood campus. There I was, mid-hike (is it fair to call a walk from the gym to Harris a hike?), embarking on a spontaneous mission to locate this unfamiliar tune. With ears turned to the wind, I passed the perimeter of Larrabee, eased past Hamilton, and tripped…twice. “Must be coming from in there”, I mused, with curious eyes locked on a…barn? Only in Connecticut would a rock band ditch the aesthetics of a cramped garage or shed to rehearse in a red barn. Seven minutes of contemplation resulted in my plan to politely intrude on their session, obtain their Spotify, and stroll out awkwardly. “Who let this groupie in, we’re practicing here!” said no one. They were actually very welcoming. “We’re having a show this Saturday, you should come through” said Kevin Hyland, ‘21 founder and lead vocalist of Boatweiler. Spoiler alert: I would. Although I had Hyland repeat the name three times, I still took to Spotify and searched RoatWeiler, GoatTyler and…ToeFiler? No results found. I would have to appear at the Barn Show later that week.
It was nine o’clock on a Saturday night. I watched as my exhales released in faint clouds to dissipate, gracefully, into the night’s atmosphere. It must’ve been 43 degrees out and I was 30th in a line to enter the barn. Naturally, a line isn’t a line unless that one guy demands to know what the hold up is; a divine use of his First Amendment right. “We’re currently at full capacity, there’s just no room!” the self-appointed student bouncer proclaimed. I chuckled in odd satisfaction; I felt as if I was waiting for something worthwhile. The door was propped open for us to observe the commotion inside: a sea of students swallowed by multicolored Christmas lights and the band’s electrifying sound. Outside, we were creating a commotion of our own. “Yo, just let us in”, “Dude, it’s been 20 minutes”, “If I wanted to waste my Saturday in a line I’d hit up the mailroom!”, “Your mom!”. The bouncers were pretty annoyed themselves; do you know how much courage it takes to publicly deny your friends VIP-access inside the barn because it “wouldn’t be fair to the people waiting?” The barn was regurgitating two people every 15 minutes and consuming four more. After conversing with the girl behind me, I realized I’d I’d gained the full concert line experience: annoyance, Juul smog, and making a new friend. “You four can go in now, thanks for waiting. Enjoy!” shouted the bouncer.
Unfortunately, no exaggeration is being used when I say it was grossly humid inside the barn. I was hit with air so condensed in body heat, I nearly turned on my heels to exit. However, an outrageously long wait gifts you the strength to bear anything. “There’s no way I’m going back outside, I stood in that line for 40 minutes!
I’ve already missed the first and second acts, I’m not leaving until it’s over,” yelled one student over the music. I found an empty corner and listened to what I came for: Boatweiler. Sooner rather than later, everything felt okay. More than okay actually. In the midst of howling students, all worries and regrets sank beneath our feet. The floorboards nearly caved in when Boatweiler began to play “Kids” by MGMT. It was as if nothing mattered more to anyone than belting out that song. Phones were shoved in back pockets as arms shot up to the heavens in bliss. I climbed up onto a bookshelf in the back, I wanted to overlook everything. “If you could all shine your flashlights…this song is very dear to me,” announced lead Hyland. Dozens of lights illuminated the barn like fireflies in the night. It wasn’t my camel moment…but it sure was a moment, and these are the moments I live for. •
